


Cookie Crumbs, Singing and Bad Dancing

by FlamingPotatoArson



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Boys Kissing, Cookies, Garrison is a boarding highschool, Garrison trio, Gen, Keith dancing, Keith is Impulsive, Lance sing, M/M, Making Out, Talent Shows, They're already friend but whatever, This is from Tumblr, and voltron decideds hey you are gonna be the key part of fuckign with Iverson, like really well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-24 03:24:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13802358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlamingPotatoArson/pseuds/FlamingPotatoArson
Summary: There is a running gag about Professor Iverson liking "white" things around the Garrison campus after he got into a shouting match with an exasperated student, who yelled it in his exhausted rant.Iverson is really into Christmas carols, and the campus is making even more jokes about it.And then Iverson challenges the VOLTRON group to the school's upcoming annual Winter talent show.And they decide they are going to use that joke to their advantage.Now they just need someone to sing......





	Cookie Crumbs, Singing and Bad Dancing

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so I know Iverson isn't white, but he's kind of a dick and do you really expect the entire campus to like him? I dunno, but I'm always hearing people describing shit as "white" or "black" and I'm like "wtf? What in particular puts that item or event to a certain race???" and I decided to play off that (kinda briefly). So I don't intend to be racist or anything if that's how anyone reads it. No offense is meant to anyone, white or not. I'm mocking the culture I'm seeing in my community today, because I honestly think it's stupid.

“We need to piss Iverson fucking _off!”_

“He did dare us to enter the talent show.” Hunk reminds Pidge, walking side by side to her in hallway. A laptop and what Keith thinks is a robot is pressed to her chest, a cord dangling by her knees. Shiro’s already tried to wrap it around her wrist but it came unwound anyway. He’s glancing over her shoulder to make sure it somehow doesn’t mysteriously grow an extra feet and trip the no-sleep genius. “Yeah,” Keith says, lifting and stretching his arm awkwardly so a girl can slip past him in the hallway. He tries not to hiss when his elbow hits the dorm wall when she’s past. “But he’s expecting us to do something crazy to win. We need to do the most classic, white thing ever. His _favorite_. And _ruin_ it for him, so he’ll never forget the time we showed him up when he sees it. Really throw him for a loop and get his blood boiling.”

“White thing” Allura repeats to herself, tucking her face into her scarf a little more. She shifts closer to Shiro unconsciously.

Outside, it’s mid-winter and snow decorates half the city like frosting on a lumpy cupcake. December break is a week and a half  away, and he’s ready to escape the Garrison’s dorms for as long as possible. For a prestigious high school, this place was _bat shit insane_ most the time.

(He couldn’t deny he liked it.)

“Iverson has been playing Christmas music non-stop in class. Singing Christmas songs is white-person-y thing..." Pidge trails off, biting her thumb. “We need someone who can sing.“ She snaps her head up, light reflecting off her glasses haphazardly. Keith feels his shoulders jump, but he ignores it to catch Pidge’s rant as they walk through the hall to Lance’s dorm. The one he shared with Keith and Hunk.

“-Iverson is a dick, as we all know, so of course he plays the oldest, catchy Christmas ear-worms…Jingle Bells isn’t good enough, Carol of the Bells is too old-fashioned to ruin it, Hark the Harold Angel Sings needs a damn chipmunk to hit those notes” she snaps, nearly dropping her robot. “All I Want for Christmas is You is his favorite. He played it for _an hour and a half straight, I kid you not_. I can still hear it in my ears. The whole class probably can. _Let’s wreck it.”_

“Alright, so we’ve picked the song. Now we just need somebody to sing it.” Keith nods, recalling the cheery music and tortured screams he had heard passing Iverson’s class one day. “Knowing Iverson, they’ll have to sing it perfectly. Otherwise, he’ll find a way to criticize it.” Shiro pointed out, turning the corner behind Pidge. “So, we just need someone with the voice of an angel.” Allura snorts. “Plenty of those here, in an academic and sports based boarding school.” Hunk adds, stopping in front the door to his, Keith’s, and Lance’s dorm. “Maybe Lance will know someone?” Allura sounds hopeful. Hunk’s silver key slots in the key hole with a quiet click.  “Who doesn’t he know?” Pidge asks, tossing a look over her shoulder. Hunk twists the key and the knob. “We’ll just have to look around and hope for the best.”

Two things waft out of the open door: the warm smell of peanut butter cookies baking. They aren’t Hunk’s, but warm cookies always remind Keith of late nights sitting cross legged in front of the stove with a younger Shiro, watching round circles of dough bake. The tile floor would be warmed by the dingy stove in front of them, and they’d guess which ones would end up burnt. It was usually most of them. 

And the voice of a literal angel.

If he was a sinner, this voice would be the thing that made him repent.

It’s gorgeously high and low, clear and in tune with the song. Each syllable is strong, concise, and obviously practiced. It was the voice of an angel rehearsing. It was beautiful. It was-

_“-every mistletoe, until I know it’s true love, he thinks of, so next Christmas, I’m not all alone boy- ”_

-singing a pop song.

_“Santa, tell me, if you’re really there-”_

Keith slowly steps inside, clutching his messenger bag in his hand so it doesn’t bang off his hip and hit the wall. Edging inside, he beckons two crooked fingers at the team of Verified Organisms Looking To Rage On Nit-Pickers (they didn’t count the p because of the hyphen) to inch inside with him. Cautious breath sharpens his focus. Carefully, he peers into the kitchen.

A tacky radio plays out the song on the countertop. The window is closed, grey curtains leaving the lights to electrically brighten the room.  A tall, young woman twists the dials on the stove, long, light brown hair trailing neatly down the slope of her back. _“Santa tell me, if he really cares-”_ Scattered dirty mixing bowls and a mess of cookie cutters and leftover cookie dough are placed around a smiling, red-faced toddler. He laughs, grabbing at the long, tan fingers playing with him, combing his hair or tugging his clothes.  The hands lead up to skinny arms with lean muscle, which curve inward to broad shoulders and sharp collarbones above a solid chest and narrowed waist. Rocking heels sway long legs and hips.

_“-someone to hold, be my fire in the cold-”_

All of that (glorious body) was under a smooth neck and narrow chin. Soft lips sing out the next line.

_“-Or if it’s true love, that he thinks of, -”_

Lips he’s seen before.

(Okay, fantasized about.)

That glorious voice, is coming from _Lance_.

Lance fucking McClain, the memeiest of VOLTRON and biggest target of Iverson.

**_Hell yes._ **

**“** Lance! You can sing?” Pidge screeches. Two reactions whip through Lance. His left arm is a literal blur as he smacks the radio off the counter. Cradled in his right is his baby nephew. Surprise and concern (and a little bit of fear and something new) sharpen his face.

“You bet your life my brother can sing.” The woman snorts, turning around from where she had bent to take out a sheet of cookies. “Our uncle was a chorus teacher and no way in this world was he going to leave his nephew tone deaf.” She slips off the oven mitts and dusts off her hands.  Her wide, demanding posture looked hilarious compared to Lance’s awkward one. The toddler stretches out his arms from Lance’s hold, cooing at the woman. His mom hauls her purse on her shoulder, throws the bowls in the sink, and takes the gurgling kid from Lance. “Name it, Lance can sing it. That’s the last tray, I hope you won’t eat all of them yourself, but that’s always a hope. I’ve got to get home, love you little bro, don’t forget to study!” A Confident Mom Whirlwind passes them in the hallway before the door in being closed with a bang.

“Hey, Lance. I’ve got a plan…”

* * *

 

“Oh God, oh God, that’s a big crowd…”

Lance sways side to side in place, hand discreetly holding back part of the curtain. Loud, rambunctious teenagers and stoic teachers fill the seats. The Talent Show would start in 5 minutes, but Lance wasn’t even going first. His fidgeting hands shouldn’t be tugging at his jacket this early. That new, unusual emotion shouldn’t be playing in his face. “Hey,” Keith says. “Want to make fun of the other acts while we wait?” “What?” Lance asks, dropping the curtain back into place. The audience disappears behind it.  His pink face is turned towards Keith and his arms are wrapped around his stomach.

“Well, see that girl on stilts?” Keith points to the girl in the 4 foot stilts and strange sheets. “Give me the craziest story for her.” "Ah” Lance bites the tip of his finger, clearly thinking, checks still light pink. ( _Holy shit- that is cute, get_ it _together Kogay-ne-)_ “Girl high on smoke from burning hotel room that was used by a drug dealer becomes stilt walker?” Keith snorts. “Sure. Now, what’s his?”

* * *

 

##  _“Now, Lance McClain, singing "All I Want for Christmas is You!"_

This time, Lance’s cheeks are starting to burn and Keith can clearly tell what that emotion from the first time he heard Lance sing was: embarrassment.

He steps on stage, pushing back the curtain, leaving the rest of VOLTRON in the shadowy wings of the stage

Even in jeans and a baseball tee, he’s damn gorgeous, bright lights bringing out his beauty.

He stands. Brings the mic to his lips.

_"I don’t want a lot for Christmas…”_

(The note hangs in the air and Lance’s cheeks are on fire.)

Except Keith.

Impulsively, he jumps out on to the stage, ratty red flannel on his hips and beanie smooshing his hair. He’s even surprising himself.  The audience stares at him in shock, most having jumped back from the bang he made. Lance looks back over his shoulder.

Keith starts interpretively dancing.

Putting on a sassy face, he wags his finger.

_Oh God, what am I doing?_

There’s a few giggles from the audience. But more importantly, the thing that convinces him to stay of this damn stage and make a fool of himself, is Lance’s reassured smile.

_“There is just one thing I need,”_

He sticks up a finger and holds his hand close to his heart, sweet grin on his face.

_“I don’t care about the presents…”_

Keith walks across the stage briskly, dismissively waving his hand.

He stops and folds himself into a box, crouching down.

_“Underneath the Christmas tree…”_

He springs back animatedly and hangs his arms over the spot he was in, mimicking branches.

_“I don’t need to hang my stocking, There upon the fireplace…”_

Spinning around, he pushes a tack into the air before frowning at it.

_“Santa Claus won’t make me happy…”_

Keith crosses his arms and huffs. 

_“With a toy on Christmas Day!”_

With loud, heavy thumps he clomps across the stage like a Nutcracker.

_"I just want you for my own, More than you could ever know…”_

_(God, that was true)_

Keith points out to the crowd, then pokes the top of his head.

_“Make my wish come true, All I want for Christmas is you, You baby!”_

First, he clasps his hands together and turns to them imaginary sky. And then, he points to the crowd and makes incredibly awkward rocking motions.

_“Oh, I won’t ask for much this Christmas..,”_  

He crosses his arms as an x.

_“I won’t even wish for snow….”_

This is where he takes the awkwardness of dancing horribly on stage to a new level. He shakes his head, and then proceeds to wiggle his fingers while dragging them down through the air

_“And I’m just gonna keep on waiting….”_

A giant clock motion that involves both his arms.

_“Underneath the mistletoe!”_

Pinching his fingers, Keith shakes them over his head, stepping closer to Lance

_“I won’t make a list and send it , To the North Pole for Saint Nick….”_

He scribbles quickly and slices his hand out, like he was throwing a playing card

_"I won’t even stay awake to, Hear those magic reindeer click!”_  

More wagging fingers and snapping.

“ _Cause I just want you here tonight ,_ _Holding on to me so tight….”_

Keith wraps his arms around himself and takes big, wide, spinning steps

_“ What more can I do?_

He throws up his arms and gives the crowd a what-can-you-do-about-it face.

_"Baby all I want for Christmas is you! You, you ,you baby!”_

More crazed pointing and irregular rocking.

“ _And everyone is singing, I hear those sleigh bells ringing!”_

He shakes his fists and cups his ear.

_"Santa won’t you bring me the one I really need? Won’t you please bring my baby to me?”_

He sways to the song, making a fist and pulling it down to his heart. 

_“Oh, I don’t want a lot for Christmas, This is all I’m asking for….”_

The notes are slowing down, Lance’s voice really being tested. It was sweet and slow and perfect, and Keith would’ve given anything to bask in it longer. 

_“I just want to see my baby…_

Honestly kind of shady, he points two fingers to his eyes then flicks them out at the crowd. Then, more aggressive rocking motions.

_"Standing right outside my door….”_

He draws a doorframe with his hands and steps through. 

_“Oh I just want you for my own, More than you could ever know…”_

Keith sways over to Lance, and drapes himself over his back, putting a finger to Lance’s temple.

_“Make my wish come true….”_

It’s been a long, impulsive night for Keith. And with a blinding smile from Lance and warm, soft skin beneath him, Keith literally could not make the wrong choice in his eyes.

He leans around and kisses Lance square on the mouth.

After the pause, Lance pulls back, face redder than ever.

_“Oh, baby all I want for Christmas is you ,yo-ou baby.”_ The voice crack does not go unnoticed.

The crowd hoots and hollers. Wolf whistles fill the room.

Twisting Lance to face him better, Keith pulls him down to his lips. The crowd’s screaming, cheering, going utterly completely wild, but their energy couldn’t match the feelings in their kiss. Lance winds an arm between them, the other holding the mic, and grips the hair at the back of his neck. Keith is slowly putting his back to the crowd, shifting for a better position but too caught up in the now to move quickly. Hot, pliable lips push back against his and trust and passion charge his motions. He responds desperately to Lance, the first sweet caramel taste just a temptation for the thirst in him.

The noise Lance makes when he bites Lance’s lower lip gets caught in the mic.

And now they’re both red, panting. Hurriedly, Lance shoves the mic in the announcer’s hand and grabs Keith, sprinting backstage, away from the screaming.

They make out in a dark corner until they hear the announcer’s slightly confused voice.  

“And the winners are…. Klance? What?

Breaking their lip lock, Lance gasps for air and pulls back, gulping air deeply like it’ll glue his composure together. "C'mon, we won.” He smirks, quickly fixing Keith to look as presentable as possible before pulling him off the wooden block. Lance forgets to straighten his clothes.

The masses start their trademark unholy screeching.


End file.
